


Thoughts of Home

by Solistair



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:59:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5638258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solistair/pseuds/Solistair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To start off my DA: I fics I decided to write a short piece about my female lavellan Ianehn thinking got her previous home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thoughts of Home

Most vivid amongst the memories of her home, and oddly enough one thing she found herself missing a bit more with each day, was her less... welcoming sleeping quarters.

She sighed and turned from her left to right side, now facing the inside of the room. Her room in Haven was too big for one person but nothing she had planned on arguing about since she got the privacy she wanted. Sleeping and knowing her clan was around her was safety for her once but suddenly that safety had been replaced by a locked door and wooden walls.

After another sigh slipped past her lips she slowly slid the blanket off her chest and stretched her legs towards the floor before sitting up, looking around the room. The fire was almost out, small embers’ flickering being the only light in the room. It was a weak and calm light, a small reminder of...

“ _Home._ ” Her voice was a whisper, eyes still on the tiny embers fighting to stay alive. In some sad way they reminded her of her own small self. She wasn’t meant to be here, she wasn’t meant for much that had already happened.

She moved the fingers of her left hand, quite satisfied that the green light didn’t light up spontaneously or do some other thing that would only confuse her. There was still so much she was uncertain of and in a way it was frightening. She shook her head at the thought and smiled, it was silly.

On her shoulders rested thin wool, soft and warm. It was visibly worn out and stitched together, the one piece that had lasted years. Sleeping in it had become very comfortable. Despite it and underwear, she wore nothing in bed.

She stood up, feeling a chill on her bare legs, and took only a few steps to the fireplace to help the embers form a flame. The soft light became warmer and brighter, filling the room. The small elf sat down in silence, crossing her legs, and threw in another small log which the fire eagerly claimed.

“ _Hmm... Mhmhmm... -numin... vir lath sa’vunin..._ ” A soft hum and quiet words along with sparks from the fire were the only things filling the room. This one elf had not at all been blessed with a singing voice, but being alone in the middle of the night in front of a fireplace she could at least pretend. Others of her clan had sung by the fire late at night and it was a pleasant memory she would relive as many times as she could.

She stretched her hand towards the chair by the desk to her right, picking up a knife from the leather belt, then sitting back down. The knife was sharp and clean, one of her small shiny treasures. Looking down on it she could see a green eyed elf looking back at her, flame lighting up the yellow tones of her iris.

While her dominant left hand had a comfortable grab on the knife she moved her right hand up to her face. First she traced her vallaslin and then the places she often covered with paint or blood, her own victory marks. She looked kinder without the paint but was not sure whether or not she liked it being so.

Both sides of her head had been shaved a long while ago and the hair on top was currently the only clear sign that she had been sleeping only a few minutes ago; ruffled and uncontrolled. She dragged her free hand through the hair, forcing it up and around, making some odd hairstyle that made her giggle. She shook her head at her childish act.

She put her knife down and leaned back, lying down on the floor. It was chilly and hard to the back, not so much different from what she was used to, what she liked.

She blinked, looking up at the ceiling. The fire cast shadows around the room, telling a story of its own. It was so comfortable, so safe.

Her body relaxed to the familiar feeling of the hard surface. Using her arm as cushioning she could feel her eyelids growing heavier as a new wave of exhaustion hit her.


End file.
